


Monster Mine

by Nimbus_Cloud



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Other, Penny Dreadful - Freeform, Vampire Hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimbus_Cloud/pseuds/Nimbus_Cloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victorian England AU, Levihan.  </p><p>Hanji is a vampire hunter, who is far more interested in dissecting her newfound vampire captive than letting him die peacefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello Beastie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye/gifts).



The cold night air soaked into her lungs and colored her breath frosty white whilst it painted her lips a soft blue.  Her body trembled and she let the shiver pass through her bones, the spasms in her muscles waking her.  A ghastly breeze rustled the leaves on the ground, and they whispered a soporific melody in her ear, yet she knew they were merely the pipes carrying the melody of a different conductor.  Every touch of snow on her cheeks urged her gently into rest—an icy rest—a chill behind her in the night promised a beautiful tranquility.  And when it at last enveloped its captivating arms around her, frozen fingers softly touching her chin, turning it aside to bear her tepid, beating pulse…

“A gentleman would buy me dinner first,” she whispered before she turned abruptly and clapped a cuff on her assailant’s wrist—a silver cuff, to be exact. 

The creature snarled and hissed against her chin—shorter than she anticipated—before it began to claw and tear at its own wrist, drawing rivets of pale blue into the blanched flesh. 

“Get it off me, wench!” 

His unbound hand flew to her throat, grasping it tight.  She felt pressure building behind her eyes as the icy noose grew taut, but she only drew him closer to her—and the wooden stake she now held in her hand. 

She pressed the weapon into the soft velvet of his clothes, feeling his fingers slowly unfurl as the fibers of his coat gave way to her stave. 

“Kill me and be done with it then,” the creature spat, his horrible fangs almost receding.   

“Would you have allowed me such mercy?” she challenged.  “Or would you have ravaged me in every bestial way before leaving my mutilated body for the dogs to pick and scavenge?” 

He seemed almost taken aback by her ferocity before understanding colored his silvery grey eyes. 

“I am not the one they call the  _Ripper_ ,” he said pointedly.

“It matters not.  You’re one of  _them_ , and I intend to exact you for much purpose before granting you reprieve.” 

“I fail to comprehend your meaning.”

His fangs seemed to her to wax and wane in the light, and the observation made her grin into his glower. 

“It appears your fangs are retractable,” she laughed, her breath condensing the air between them.  “It makes me wonder what other delectable secrets I’ve yet to uncover about you.” 

And when he met her auburn gaze, he felt it—a horrid sensation he hadn’t felt for many centuries.  His mouth went dry and were he to possess a heartbeat, he was sure it would have quickened.  Against this woman, he was no longer the predator.  In her grip, he had become the prey.

* * *

 

History is a fickle thing, the thought creeped unbidden into his mind as heavy wooden doors creaked open to let in his captors.  A fickle thing, written by fickle creatures known as man. Standards of morality were ever changing to suit the needs of the current generation. Between cultures, between decades, humans constantly warped the definitions of right and wrong, virtue and sin, man and beast. Levi had traveled little in his centuries of life, but no matter the era, he had always been fairly sure of his role as beast. 

Until he met the demon of a woman standing before him in a dank basement prison, her spectacles gleaming as if to hide the foul plot behind her eyes.

He hissed as she came near, struggling against his silver chains as much as the pain would allow.  It wouldn't do much to deter her, he knew, but he was not about to graciously accept the role of a laboratory rat.   

"I'm going to need a blood sample from you, little Beastie," she whispered as she held up a syringe in one gloved hand.  "And if you cooperate without incident, I'll not require my assistant inflict violence upon you."

" _You_ need _my_ blood?" he scoffed.  "And here I had mistaken myself to be the blood-drinker between us."

"Do not compare me to the likes of you," she snapped. "I require your blood not out of some lustful hunger but for science."

"You believe your end justifies your means?" Levi scoffed, rolling his head against his shoulders almost lazily.  "Cast your eyes upon who is torturing whom and know there is as much monster in you as there is man."

"I am no monster like you… yet neither am I man.  Moblit, if you would be so kind as to--"

The blond man stepped forward out from the shadows, and the smell of him made Levi flinch.  Garlic. The stench was so pungent it made Levi gag and turn his head away as the man grabbed him by the jaw and forced his head away from his arm.  Were he mortal, the twist may well have broken his neck.  The blood was drawn in an instant and soon after, the man released him from his chokehold. 

"There, that wasn't so horrible was it, Beastie?" she gleamed as she held up the sample in the light.

"I've a name,” he snarled. 

"You presume that I care to know it."

She flicked the glass of the syringe with her long fingers, never once looking at him.

"Then I would have the name of my tormentor."

That earned her gaze at last, an amused look she held at length, probing him almost. She passed the syringe onto the tray Moblit held out to her and came in close, her clacking steps echoing against the stonewalls until she was standing a hair's breadth away from him. She looked down at him with wide eyes, fearless and bold, declaring,

"I am the Baroness Zoë Hanji, of the Royal Society, and I _will_ be your reckoning."

 

* * *

 

"I must thank you once again for your indulgence of me, Moblit," Zoë said as she gently pulled the needle out of his arm and pressed down the cotton swab on the puncture. "Apply pressure for a full minute before you bandage it.  And raise your arm, like that, yes."

Moblit quietly did as he was told then watched her as she then separated his blood into three separate test tubes.  One held nothing within it, one held an anti-coagulant, and one held a hemoglobin-specific dye.  The creature's blood had been similarly divided and sat already waiting upon the table for examination.  It gave him a queer uneasiness to see how similar their blood appeared, at least to the naked eye.

"Suppose he were a coven master," Moblit surmised.  "The danger—"

"He would've summoned his familiars the moment we set against him. Either we would not have made it out of that encounter alive, or he would have perished by my hand in that moment. But you are right to bring it up, for we must consider the possibility that he may yet serve another."

It was sobering to think how many of the foul beasts still roamed free.

Any one vampire may be master to one or a dozen converts, depending on their age and power.  If it holds no control over others, it is likely still in blood debt to a master who holds others by the same bond.  One can only be free of the coven master by drinking his or her blood—an allowance they rarely give to their adherents. To kill all the coven masters, however...

Zoe carefully labeled the tubes before placing them into the wooden rack after which, she began removing her gloves.  She rubbed her bare fingers together and blew into them slowly, hoping to warm them.

"If you would be so kind as to kindle the fire, Moblit. The house seems colder with Beastie's presence, does it not?" she smiled almost sadly, removing her spectacles and rubbing at her eyes.

"Of course, my lady.  And tea?"

"Coffee, if you would.  I've a long night ahead of me."

"My lady, you need rest--"

"Coffee." she said firmly, her mouth drawn into a tight line.

Regrettably, he knew better than to argue.  Her father had been just as stubborn when he felt himself on the precipice of discovery.  Would he curse the man or bless his name that he allowed his daughter such facility, encouraging her to stay up with him, read his books, and inquire about his research? Instead of grooming her as a lady for future suitors, he reared her as a laboratory assistant. She would always favor books to potential husbands.  Moblit would forever adore the proud, intelligent woman that such an upbringing would sire, yet such lifestyle habits were far from healthy or wholesome. 

In the end, he was no better, he knew, as he poked the embers to life in the fire in her study. 

_I don't necessarily take better care of her, nor can I convince her to take such initiative herself._

When she had vowed to find and take revenge on the beasts that murdered her father, he had tried many times to dissuade her, all in vain. But she was deaf to his pleas and in reply, he did the only thing he could—he resolved to be by her side till the end of his days, so that she would not be alone and so that he might better keep her safe.  He could not stop her, so he chose to watch her.  His life belonged to this estate, to this family, which had so nurtured him all his life.

The fire was blazing now, and he needed to put the kettle on. 

 _I shall urge her to sleep before the sun rises,_ he vowed to himself. 

 

* * *

 

"Did you know, Beastie?"

The creature gave a loud groan from his crumpled position on the floor, looking up at her with bloodshot, hate-filled eyes. She did not fail to notice the lack of fear.  But she would change that soon enough. 

"You have a natural—and I use this term as loosely as I can, for everything about you is unnatural—anti-coagulant coursing through your veins." 

Hours after she had collected his blood sample, it seemingly refused to clot, though Moblit's had coagulated quite regularly like a human’s. It would take some time yet for her to isolate and give a name to the compound responsible for the phenomenon, but it was already morning, and her human limitations required that she get some rest before her late afternoon engagements. 

"Nor do you have antibodies for the A and B antigens.  I suspected as much, seeing as how your kind feasts without any regard for the blood type of your victims, but I suppose I was curious to know if you thought Type A or Type B or AB or O was more delicious.  Do the antigens differ the flavor of the blood to you?  Or do the terror and sorrow of your victims add to the piquancy?"

"You talk too much," he moaned, turning over on the cold concrete floor onto his other side, his back to her.

 _Can his body sense the hour?_ She wondered. _Does he sleep because the sun has risen outside these walls?_

The basement in which he was held had no windows to the outside world.  Light came only from the gas light lamps suspended from the walls—a relatively modern installment in her venerable home.  She had thought he would thrive in an environment of perpetual darkness, but he made it seem as if vampires required sleep as much as any other _living_ creature.

 _Perhaps he is like a snake,_ she thought _. Perhaps he gorges until he is full and then sleeps for days or weeks on end until he needs to feed again._ If she was meant to be his first meal in weeks, she suspected that he was not at full strength. _But he is living dead. Can he even feel the discomfort of starvation?_

"Do you serve a master?  Or were you one of the first?"  she pressed him.  She had too many questions burning in her mind and she needed answers before she grew mad with unknowing. 

He gave no answer. 

"Did you or any of your acquaintances know my father?"

He gave no answer. 

"How long have you been suspended in this realm as what you are?"  

Still, he gave no answer. 

"Very well, if you refuse to engage in even polite conversation with me, I see that my current assessments of your kind have yet to be refuted.  I shall return this evening to collect another sample, Beastie."

"That is not my name."

_So he does speak._

"I do not care."

"Then I shall speak with you on the day that you do." 

His words gave her a moment’s hesitation before she turned away, leaving the basement with immense irritation. There were some who believed that to name a demon was to give it power.  She did not hold to superstition, but she dared not give him the satisfaction of calling him by name.   

Moblit soon ran down the stairs to meet her, panting warily, ears pink from the shame of having fallen asleep early last night.

“Mistress, I’d rather you not be alone with him.”

 _He worries too much,_ she thought.

“He is chained to a wall, nevermind his current lethargy. Even if he could be bothered to lay hands on me, there are still other difficulties.”  She laid her hand upon her skirt pocket, feeling the outline of her father’s silver dagger through the fabric.  “Be not so afraid, my Moblit. Remember, they feed on fear as well.”

He gave her his best reproachful look, which did more to make him look like a pining puppy than the stern caretaker he aspired to be. She gave him an acceding smile and squeezed his arm. 

“Now I must sleep before I make my bed on the floor between us.  Please wake me an hour before Lord Smith arrives.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She walked past him and was almost on the top stair before she turned her head to ask,

“What do you suppose happens to the mind of a convert? Do you think they lose themselves and forget everything they once were?  Or is there still perhaps a piece of human soul left in there, struggling against the monster he’s become?”

“My lady?”

“Forgive me, Moblit, I’m tired. Forget what I’ve said.”


	2. What the Daylight Brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Marquess of Sina, Lord Erwin Smith.

 

"Lord Smith has arrived, ma'am.  He's waiting for you in the drawing room."

_ Early, as was the man's habit. It's as if he means to catch me in my nightgown.   _

"Thank you, Moblit.  Tell me, how does he look?"

"As polished as always, milady, and he has brought you a monstrous bouquet of flowers and a wrapped gift, as per usual.  The flowers have been put into a vase,  and the gift has been set aside in your study . "  

"A respected scientist and explorer he may be, but I do wish he'd stop propositioning me," she sighed, sticking a final hairpin into her bun , adjusting her spectacles,  and rising from her vanity.  "Tell him I shall be right down, and prepare a pot of Darjeeling for us, if you'd  please.  I recall that was his favorite."  

Moblit took his leave  with a nod, and the young Baroness strode down the upper hallway of the east wing, walking from her bedroom to the study.  The worn hinges creaked loudly as she opened the mahogany doors, and she took care to step carefully around the piles of parchment and the stacks of books scattered about on the floor.  She had long ago forbidden Moblit from entering and tidying this particular room, for fear of misplaced research.  _There is a method to my madness_ , she had assured him, though she would never admit how often she failed to find things in the clutter.  Thankfully, what she currently needed was in easy reach--blanketing her desk in several piles.  Quickly grabbing an aged folder from off the floor, she scooped up the papers into her arms before  carrying  them downstairs.  

The  Marquess  of  Sina, Erwin Smith, stood waiting patiently for her.  He was impeccably dressed, as  Moblit  had promised, standing tall and picturesque next to a vase positively overflowing with various flowers.  A photographer's delight, she mused.  She could see from a distance how his travels in India had tanned his skin and lightened his hair, though his eyes would always remain a piercing blue.

She cleared her throat to announce her entrance, and he strode over to her immediately, taking long, quick strides across the carpeted floor .

"Miss  Hanji!" he took her hand and  brought it to his lips  eagerly.  "You're looking as tired as ever, though that is undeniably one of your many  charms.  I hope you're not over exerting yourself?"

She smiled politely and withdrew her hand.  She had forgotten her gloves, and her skin tingled in the spot where his lips had touched her .  

"We all must dedicate ourselves wholly in our work, should we not?  I can never sleep when I feel the tug of new knowledge on my fingertips."

He laughed heartily and bowed his head slightly, his hands moving to rest behind his back.

" You are a tenacious woman, and it is a fact I admire, but do not be so quick to dismiss the healthy benefits of a good night's rest."

"You are kind to say so, sir.  And generous," she nodded to the bouquet.  "Thank you for the flowers, though you really needn't bother.  I'm so busy I'll hardly be able to appreciate them."

"If you can derive even a fleeting moment's pleasure from them, they are worth it.  But I see you've brought me your latest research in exchange for my gifts."  He plainly eyed the papers in her arms.

"If we are past the banal pleasantries, I should like to get right to business." 

"Even before the tea has been steeped; but I am a guest, and I shall follow  your pace. "

"Thank you, Lord Erwin," she moved them to sit on the comforts of couches and chairs as she began to spread her papers across the coffee table.  "Did you encounter anything of the paranormal during your travels in India?"  

"Nothing aside from a rather vicious encounter with a particular  _bhut _ .  But she was peacefully laid to rest once we  contacted a Hindu exorcist, who quickly performed an  _atma_ _-shanti_.   Exciting, to be sure, but not quite so dangerous as the task you've set out to accomplish."  

"I should be interested to hear more about your travels and the differences inherent in eastern religions.  But at a later time, perhaps."  

She laid out her notes from the night prior, along with a sealed vial of the creature's blood.  The little remaining fluid was still flowing freely like  crimson  water in the glass.  

"Is this--" Erwin took the vial and turned it over carefully in his hands.

"Blood.  Taken from the veins  of a vampire."  her eyes were gleaming, her voice ringing with pride.

Erwin sucked in a careful breath and his eyes immediately darted around the room, fearful of prying ears.   But they were alone, at least, in this room.   He continued in hushed tones nevertheless.  

"How did you get this?"

"Will you give me your word to swear silence?  I need complete and total discretion on your part, Lord Erwin." she  watched h is face  carefully.  He was very nearly someone she could  believe in.  But she  knew  fate could be crueler.  With the exception of Moblit, she trusted no one more than herself in all things.

"You were supposed to wait until my return--"

"My sources informed me  of a solitary roamer and I seized my opportunity before he escaped the city."  

"You put yourself at such risk?  I  am aware  what this means to you, but--"

"Your _word_ , my lord."

Biting his lip in a most ungentlemanly way, Erwin  examined his only  two options.  Secrecy or exclusion? She had never made him sign a blood contract or stood in his way to prevent him leaving.  To continue meant to know the true face of the horror that haunts children's nightmares, to know the visage of the things in the dark people run from, seeking instead the light of God.  

"You have my word." he swore.  

"The creature yet lives, I hold him captive."

He held in his surprise.   "For how much longer?" 

"For as long as I require.  This one vial of his blood has revealed a most peculiar anti-coagulant that undoubtedly serves its purpose primarily in hematophagy \--"

"Surely he is not a willing participant in these... Experiments of yours." 

He was eyeing her carefully, his brows furrowed in deep concern.

_ How is it that he fears me while  the creature doesn't?  _

"Of course not, he--" she stopped herself, drawing back and forcing herself to exercise restraint.  "My lord, the information I wish to share with you is not for the feint of heart.  I have taken certain measures, ill-befitting a member of polite society perhaps,  but  I mean to continue on my path to whatever end.  If  there is doubt in your mind  about my character..."  her eyes looked pointedly at the door. 

"You need not worry; my resolve to rid humanity of hell's demons is absolute.  If you think me hesitant, it's only out of concern for you, my lady."

She bit her lip in annoyance.  He would not patronize her so if she were a man, she was certain.

"Your father would never have wished you to--"

"My father is dead, sir," she declared, unflinching.  "And in his place, I have only his legacy and my duty to fulfill his life's work.  He has a brighter mind in me than any self-congratulating boy born to the slightest promise."  

Her words were sharper than she would have preferred, yet she could not wish them unsaid.  After an uncomfortable silence, he addressed her calmly again.

"Man or woman, we have known each other for many years, and I am speaking out to you as a friend in concern.  I know not how far you've gone, or how far you're willing to go, but there is a certain limit, and should you cross it, you will know no peace."  

His words rang heavy.  For a moment, it seemed as if she were speaking to her own father again.  But she would not waver from her course.  

"We do not embark on this journey in hopes of peace for our own souls."  

"No.  We do not."  He agreed quietly at last.  "Tell me of your work."  

They spoke all afternoon and late into the evening, breaking only for dinner at Moblit's  firm  insistence.  Yet over their bowls of warm soup and platters of finely roasted herbal  chicken, still they talked, favoring the flavor of their hypotheses on their tongues to the poultry.  

And after he took his leave from her manor, she felt herself rejuvenated at last, and headed downstairs to speak with her little Beastie.  Moblit  followed no more than three steps behind her.  He had proposed that he could procure another blood sample without her, that she need not expose herself so often to the creature, but she stressed her preference for a more hands-on experience with her research.  

The creature was sitting with his back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, a bored, lazy  expression painted on  his face.   He might have even looked serene were it not for the bloodshot eyes and the horrid pallor of his skin. Slowly blinking, he turned his eyes toward her, lifting his head off of his shoulder.   She walked toward him, staying her steps just beyond the limits of the chains that bound him.  

"I've spoken about you at great length to a colleague of mine, little Beastie," she flourished.  "I'm bubbling to the brim with ideas for what to do with you. "  She paced from side to side, struggling to keep from skipping. " Just as the putrid excrement of other animals can provide nourishment for new plant life, there are parts of your biology that may prove beneficial for human medicine.  Does it distress you to know your existence can better our lives?"

"They say turnabout is fair play," he drawled.  "Your existence certainly betters  ours  to an extent.  Though not  _you_   specifically. "

"I shall take those words as a compliment."  

She gestured to  Moblit  to collect the samples.  As he began to pull out the tourniquet and syringes from the kit,  the creature turned his head away and raised his arm, offering it freely like a reluctant patient at the doctor's office .  

"Oh go on, take it.  Have your fun."  

"You're being surprisingly cooperative, Beastie."  

"That is not my name." he repeated.  

"So you've said."

"But  let me  recall yours.  Hanji , was it?   A peculiar surname, to be sure.   And you  had  said you're a Baroness," he scratched at his wrists with cracked , too-long fingernails.  "What in the world is a woman of nobility doing hunting vampires and experimenting on them for fun?  Shouldn't you be attending galas or wooing gentlemen of note?"

"You presume much to say I do this for my own enjoyment."   

Moblit approached cautiously, his free hand steady above the wooden  stake strapped to his waist should the creature renege.  

"It would be a lie to say you don't enjoy it even a little."  He sat  still as stone as the woman's servant came near, moving only his lips.  "You contend with me as a hobby, not as a chore." 

He flinched only slightly as the first sample was collected, but was unmoved by the others that followed, his eyes never leaving hers.  A modern amazon of a woman, he thought.  Either wrought with courage or terminally stupid.  But mostly stubborn.  

Once he had collected blood in five separate syringes,  Moblit  stood and backed away from the creature hurriedly, the relief plain on his features.  

"It seems when the moon is up, you talk even more than I do," her lips were drawn tight in annoyance.  "Thank you, Moblit.  Let us return upstairs. "

"The polite thing to do would be to leave me some literature at least with which to pass the time," the creature called out to their retreating backs.  

"You are our prisoner, not our guest."  Hanji  fumed.  

"As I understand it, even prisoners are afforded certain rights and pleasures."  

"Human prisoners, yes."  She turned on her heel.  

"I've a preference for Shakespeare and Marlowe.  Even penny dreadfuls provide some entertainment value. "  

"Do you consider this to be sport?  That I am no threat to you?"  

"I consider this to be a small moment in time.  Perhaps the end of my eternity.  And since you refuse me the mercy of a quick and painless end-- "

"That is more than you deserve."  

"How would you know what I deserve, Hanji ?"  

"You are a monster, just like--"

"Do not confuse me with the ones who killed your father!" he snarled suddenly, his fangs growing long and bright.  "I am just another being on this earth doing what I must  to survive!"  The chains clattered and echoed against the walls.  

Immediately, the two humans took several steps away from him, drawing their glimmering silver blades, their bodies tense and their hearts pounding in their ears.  Their increased blood flow was making his head swim and his mouth water.  It had been too long since his last feeding.  Breathing deeply and slowly , he drew back against the wall, scratching at the puncture wound.  

"Leave me," he hissed.  

He dared not dream that he saw pity  or regret in her auburn eyes as she left him.   The world was rarely so kind, either to man or monster.  

_ Do not look at me so.  Do not look at me as they once did. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a tremendous amount of fun writing period speech~ Which is probably why there is currently an excessive amount of dialogue.


	3. The Mighty Brought Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanji is always suspicious of answers that seem disdainfully easy.

She was doing it again. The sun rose and fell while barely a morsel of food passed through her lips, her eyes closing only momentarily in blinks heavy with exhaustion.  Moblit found himself tempted at times to slip a tincture of poppy into her tea to force a few hours of sleep.  But every time he found himself with the vial in his fingers, he could not bring himself to betray her trust--even if for her own benefit. 

"What a disappointing caretaker I've turned out to be," he muttered to himself, eyeing the steady ticks on the silver pocket watch the late Lord Hanji had given him. "Would you be disappointed in me, milord?"  But only the chilly morning air answered, frosting his breath. 

The house had grown persistently colder since they had taken in their new resident. No matter how often he tended the fires, Moblit felt ever a chill in his bones, a coldness he did not feel when he left the grounds to run errands.  London was a dreary place, to be sure, but the months had only just passed into September.  It had gotten so cold that of late, he and Miss Zoë had taken to wearing coats inside.

Even the tea seemed to lose its warmth faster.  By the time he reached her study, the ceramic of the teacup already felt lukewarm to the touch.

"My apologies, mistress," he murmured, placing the tea upon her desk and eyeing the coals burning low in her fireplace. 

"You apologize far too much, my dear Moblit," she answered, her breath fogging the window. She took to sitting on the window sill when she found herself at wit's end, watching the rain steadily pour down the glass and hoping to catch a glimpse of enlightenment in the ripples of water. "Our little Beastie must be upset. We've not paid him a visit in nearly a fortnight.  This winter can only be his petulant response." 

Moblit was poking at the dying embers, trying to urge them back to life.  Dull sparks were all he could encourage out of the burnt timber.

"Oh, I'd leave that be. I've a mind to make calls upon some associates this afternoon."

"Milady, shouldn't you get some sleep?"

"I fear the demons that plague me in my dreams.  They prance about in morbid glee, spreading horror and death, then turn to face me while wearing my countenance.  They wake me and I find my legs tired and restless, as if I'd been dancing through the night. No, I cannot sleep." she whispered.

"Perhaps if we returned to the manor in Bristol for a time.  The social season is near past and London is not as livable as once it was."

"And leave our Beastie unattended?  Or worse, bring him with us to make dreary the house my father raised me in?"

"Milady--"

"No, Moblit. We shall remain in London until our business is complete."  Her voice was firm, albeit tired.  "If you would fetch my cloak and gloves." She pulled her overcoat tighter around herself, and drew her finger up and down the fog on the glass, tracing old familiar shapes on the pane.

 

* * *

 

Autopsies were not his favorite ways to pass the time, but there were few methods available to learn of human anatomy and illness.  To work backwards from the death to the cause of death is excellent practice in deduction, his father always told him.  And though the lad knew the old man's words rang with truth, he found it tedious all the same.  He much preferred to work with living, breathing patients and offer his time and assistance to those who yet had chance to live. 

"Not meaning to offend, sir," he mumbled at the corpse before him.  "But digging through your intestines is an awful chore."

He had spent the past hour looking for a bowel obstruction he now suspected had never existed--which meant he was back to square one in finding a cause of death.  He pulled his hands out of the man's abdominal cavity, and scoured his memory of the patient's history.   The man had arrived a week before with a mild fever, vomiting and stomach cramps.  Appetite had been unaffected, but there had been clear bloating in his belly and an inability to pass gas.  He had been prescribed opiates for the pain and stool softeners to take at home while an enema had been performed in the office--that had been the height of jubilee--but had shown up a few days later in worse condition than before.  Dr. Jaeger had left the majority of the gentleman's treatment to Eren while he attended to another project that was of the utmost confidentiality. 

Unfortunately, his father seemed loath to involve him in that or any research pertaining to the Royal Society. Though he had no idea what it might be, Eren was absolutely sure it was more interesting than the late Mr. Ian. So when he heard the front door bell ring announcing blissful reprieve, he dashed upstairs with a furious speed.

"Baroness!" Her ears must have been burning.

"Good afternoon, Eren. Have we come at a bad time?" she eyed his bloodstained gloves. 

"Hm? Oh!  Oh..." the boy hurriedly pulled them off, tossing them in the bin and hastily untying his apron.  "Begging your pardon, Baroness.  I was just having a look at a dead man's insides and--" No, that wasn't proper conversation for a lady.  "I—that is, well I was just..."

"Is Dr. Jaeger available?" She smiled politely, amused.

"Oh, he's just stepped out to make a house call.  But he took off near two hours ago, I reckon he should be back soon.  Can I offer you some tea?"

"Thank you, Eren. That would be most kind." She took her seat near the entryway, pulling on Moblit's sleeve so that he'd do the same.  "Is it all right to leave the body alone while you're with me?"

"He's stiff and cold and headed to the undertaker before this evening, no worries, Miss." he smiled and put the kettle on, rummaging about for some clean mugs that hopefully hadn't recently held surgical tools. 

"I don't mean to keep you from your work.  I understand your studies must be quite difficult."

"No, it's... Well... I've a ways to go,” he admitted. "I've got to catch up to my father before I can hope to surpass him." 

"I'm sure you'll manage it. And I imagine Dr. Jaeger must be happy to be able to share his work with his son, however imperceptible that joy."

Eren thought he heard a twinge of sadness in that remark, but the kettle howled for attention before he could ask why. 

Unfortunately, the only appropriate tea he had was an earl grey blend, which he knew should be served as a breakfast tea, not for the afternoon, but he also wasn't about to give the baroness piss.  Their household also possessed no fine china, but he knew she'd understand about that.

"I'm sure this is nothing like the sort of tea you're used to drinking, but--"

"To be perfectly honest, my palette is rather unrefined and I can no sooner tell the difference between rooibos and chai than I can between different blends of earl grey." she smiled and accepted her cup graciously.  "The tea kept at home is left entirely to Moblit's preference and discretion."

Moblit accepted his cup in turn, nodding his thanks to the lad. 

Eren gave a hasty bow and scurried away, stealing glances and remembering how he had always found them an odd pair. 

"They seem so close I thought them lovers before I learned he was her butler," he had once confided in his best mate Armin. 

"Noble lords and ladies often take the servants in their households as lovers and companions. It is far from an out-of-the-ordinary occurrence, no matter what they'd like us to believe about their propriety."  Armin had been frank, as he often was.  Oftentimes, Eren suspected Armin was secretly highborn himself.  He certainly carried himself with a certain nobility.

"If it puts your sensibilities at ease," Armin had added, "I think the baroness is rather married to her work." 

"Like you."

"My eyes sometimes stray from my books, I assure you, my friend."

"I think the two of you would rather get on, actually.  She may take a liking to you then sponsor your way into the higher law courts."

"If you can arrange that, you'd be a bloody miracle." The blond had laughed.

Eren stole as many glances as he could as he drank his own tea, but he suspected Armin was correct, which could not be said to be a rare occurrence.  There was no doubt in his mind that Moblit looked upon his mistress with the highest of affections.  But she seemed nowhere near enamored in turn.  Married to her work was likely the gist of it.

"Your father has been a tremendous help to me in my work." she interrupted his train of thought.  "And so humble regarding payment, I fear I shall never repay him what he is worth. Think of me as a friend to your household, Eren.  Should you ever need to call upon me, I encourage you not to hesitate."

He might have asked her right then if she would consider meeting with Armin had his father and Mikasa not walked in the door in that moment.

"Baroness!" his father's eyes showed only momentary surprise before flicking over to his son. "I had thought to deliver my findings to you this evening—"

"I'm afraid I've been feeling a bit restless, and thought to save you the trouble of travel. We can discuss them in your office." 

"As you wish, my lady." he removed his coat as Eren came forward to take his duffel from him and Mikasa gave her best attempt at a curtsy.  "Did you finish your work downstairs?" Dr. Jaeger asked quietly.

"I—no. No I got a bit stuck, and then the Baroness arrived, so…"

"Well finish up then. Mikasa can help you. And under no circumstances are either of you to interrupt us.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, Doctor," Mikasa replied quietly, grabbing Eren's sleeve to preemptively stop him arguing. "Good evening, Baroness." she added, an afterthought, before practically dragging the young man downstairs.

Hanji watched them go with a knowing smile.  It was clear who came out victorious between the two more often. 

"They are sweet children. How blissful to be young and unaware..."

"Mikasa is far from unaware of the cruelties of the world, or she would not be my ward."

The Baroness did not know the details, only that several years ago the good doctor had adopted a ward into his family—a young girl of Asian descent but otherwise unknown origins. Many had speculated she was illegitimate, but one look had told Hanji the girl bore absolutely no resemblance to the Jaeger family.

"I shan't pry." She took her seat inside the Doctor's office.  “I trust my samples have been of some entertainment to you."

"To label them as fascinating would be an understatement, certainly." Dr. Jaeger took his seat across from the Baroness at his desk.  "The anticoagulant is most peculiar.  And proving rather difficult to isolate.  When mixed with other blood samples, it seems to corrupt and corrode the opposing blood.  It's almost as if it's... Well, digesting it, for lack of a better term. I will require further tests before I can be sure they it could ever be viable for medicinal use."

"Well I'd be a fool if I had believed the process would go smoother for you.  I shall provide you with more—"

"If I may ask... Would it be impossible for me to meet with your... Uh... Specimen?"

"Quite impossible, I'm afraid."  she replied softly. "Our little Beastie is rather... Reticent."

"I've never seen one in the flesh.  Are they as grotesque as the folk tales claim?"

"Like myself, doctor, you have a healthy curiosity for the unknown no matter how taboo or terrifying.   I wish I could tell you that he's just as horrifying as legends tell.  That he strikes fear and terror in my heart when I gaze upon him such that I wish to never again contend with the demons of Hell.  Would that the answers could be so simple and the course of action so clearly defined.  But the truth is that even the most powerful of beasts can be chained and collared. And that when they are brought low, even demons seem pitiable.  To be honest, he is not even so hideous.  I have seen human countenances more grotesque that one might even call him fair by comparison."

Moblit shifted nervously beside her.  It unnerved him to hear her speak favorably of the creature, even in jest.

"The strongest soldier in my care can be but a child when at the mercy of a sickness. Even bullies and thieves and murderers and rapists.  I do not find your answer so strange, Baroness."

"And what do you say to the man, doctor?" She asked quietly.  "When he weeps and wails like a child and calls for his mother to relieve him of the pain he is suffering?  What do you say to the sinful mighty brought low? Are they still deserving of a doctor's care and compassion?"

"I merely treat the disease, not the disease of a man.  I cannot judge them in any capacity aside from the medical.  To do so is to corrupt the work."

"What a pragmatic answer, doctor."

"But in my heart of hearts, Baroness, I pity some a great deal and loathe others even more." Dr. Jaeger pulled his glasses from the bridge of his nose, polishing them on a cloth.

"Why pity?"

"Some men steal because they are poor and have no choice.  Some men hurt others out of fear and misunderstanding.  Though I am not a priest, I have given ear to many a confession."

"Why loathing?"

"Because some men take great pleasure in the pain and suffering of others.  Because they hold no ounce of remorse or regret. No penance.  Even an ungodly man such as myself would take offense."

"I see."

"If you feel pity for the beast, I trust it has more to do with your humanity than any... temptations, shall we say."

"I shall take your words into deep consideration, Dr. Jaeger.  It has been unexpectedly heartening.  And fear not, you shall have more material to work with.  I'm sorry to have called upon you about such ugly business at your place of work."

"I'm a doctor, Baroness," Dr. Jaeger rose to escort her to the door.  "My work is to heal the sick while Death stands near taunting my very work. There is no uglier business."

"None." She agreed with a smile.

But when she stood facing the doors to the dungeon later that evening, she found herself wishing very much to instead find convalescent individuals suffering from boils and vomiting out their insides. 

"At least human patients would not put such a chill in my bones."

She opened the doors to find the creature hunched over its own fingers in the corner of the room, the chains stretched as far as he could get them.  At first glance he was almost a pitiable sight. His breathing was labored, echoing throughout the stone room.  The chill was worst here, though it was growing oppressive throughout the manor, it was unbearable where she stood.  A soft white frost covered any surface where condensation had gathered. Hanji gathered her robes tighter about her neck and drew her candle nearer, though the flame was weak and grew ever weaker as she approached him. 

"Last I recall, the winter snows don't set in fair London until December."

"Nghh..." He groaned in reply, his long fingernails scraping at the clammy skin on his arms. His body was turned away from her, trembling in its rags. 

She drew carefully closer, ever closer to the line beyond which his chains would not allow him further. Her steady steps echoed softly in the room. 

"Are you unwell, Beastie?"

"Nnghhhsssss..." He hissed, turning bloodshot eyes to look upon her at last, turning her to stone where she stood. 

His pupils were dilated, fangs bared, lips cracked and thin nostrils flared.  This was not her Beastie.  This was the true beast that lurked underneath.  His nails scraped along the concrete floor, long and jaggedly split.  She searched his eyes for a hint of rationality—something she could talk to, something she could reason with as she had before. 

"You--"

"Hyaaggh!!!" He leapt at her, the chains clattering and groaning.  When his arms would go no further, he craned his neck—his teeth—forward, snarling and spitting.

The Baroness fell to the floor, stumbling backwards, the candle falling to the wayside. The flames blew out instantaneously, and some of the hot wax spilt onto her fingers, burning them. In the darkness, she could see only the dim red glow of the creature's eyes and hear his croaking breaths. She couldn't remember if she had cried out—had Moblit heard her distress?

A voice insisted.  Get to safety, get out of the room, slam the doors, lock them shut, flee as far away as possible.

_I can't move._

Her legs were trembling and her heart was pounding in her ears, drowning out all other sounds.  And yet her eyes widened in wonder, her face growing hot with excitement instead of cold with dread.

_How fascinating._

"Fff... ffeeeed..." the creature groaned, straining against his bonds. "Musssssst... feed!!"

Once when she was a girl, she tore apart her dolls in an attempt to piece them back together like changing the wheels on a cart.  When she found that ripped fabric could not be so easily put back how it was, she was in a tempestuous mood for days.  Viciously upset that her toys were ruined, that she had been the ones to ruin them, that they could not be mended, she soured the mood of the household and had even bitten the hand of her governess when the old woman had tried to placate her.  Her father intervened at last, telling her that Nanny Maureen was quite right—she was being a frightful little monster. 

_A monster there is within us all_ _, my Zoë_ _.  To keep it in its place is to be human.  Be its master; do not be mastered by it._

What was the wrath of a small child against a demon?  What was petulance compared to desperation?

"Ssooo... hungryyy..." he moaned, a painful longing in his voice. The sorrow pulled at her heartstrings more than she cared to admit aloud. 

"You need blood, don't you," she whispered.  "Every living creature must eat." That was merely a scientific fact of nature.

Her legs found their courage some, and she began to stand. As her skirts shifted, she felt the weight of her father's silver dagger in her pocket and hesitated, letting it pull her back and push her back down. 

 _He is but a monster._ The instinct for survival ran deep, but she cringed at the simplicity of the conclusion. It was too uncomplicated, abhorrently easy.  _Cannot monsters be tamed?_

_I am just another being on this earth doing what I must to survive!_

"I shan't give you human blood.  I absolutely will not."  She declared at last, turning on her heel and fleeing the room.

In the morning, she had Moblit visit the butcher.  By the afternoon, the manor had grown considerably warmer, though it could still be thought chilly.  When in the evening she sent down a volume of Shakespeare, the temperature could at last be deemed comfortable. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had half of this chapter written and tucked away for the longest time, subject to major writer's block and a sudden work schedule totaling 6 days a week including entire weekends. Just recently I drew it up on my phone and tried typing out a sentence or two and suddenly in a few days I had the entire second half of the chapter written. Funny how that works. 
> 
> Anyhoo, to anyone who's still reading or interested in reading, enjoy!


	4. Something Else Entirely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time since her father's death, she can at last see clearly the truths from the lies. She gains back a piece of the woman she was and a new companion, one she could never have thought possible.

A few short days after the indoor weather improvement, Hanji revisited her guest, never failing to be armed with her syringes and blood vials, but on this appointment she was also equipped with a stack of _penny dreadfuls_ under her arm.  She had forced Moblit out of the house on errands delivering messages and promised that she would be good.  The poor man never failed to see the fingers crossed behind her back.  As if she could ever be deemed _good_.

"Good afternoon, Beastie." 

He peered up from his reading and closed the heavy volume, setting it down on the floor beside him as she set down her own tools.

"Play?" She stepped towards him cautiously, clutching the pamphlets of short stories in her hands.

"Sonnet." His eyes fell upon her burnt and bandaged fingers, and remembered his shame of a few nights prior.

"Which one?"

"Nineteen."

"Devouring time, blunt thou the lion's paws..." She recited, as she had done in her youth to her stern tutor.  Slowly at first, but once she remembered the start, she could always recall the remainder of the verse.

"...And make the earth devour her own sweet brood." He answered.

"Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws..."

"... And burn the long-lived Phoenix in her blood."

She held out the pamphlets for him to take, impressed by her own memory.  It had been years since she had last indulged in Shakespeare. But her memory was strong, and she too held a healthy appreciation for poetry.

" _These_ are not the works of great poets, but they're all I have in the London manor in terms of entertainment fiction."

He shuffled forward on the ground towards her, his chains rattling as he slowly brought himself to a stand. Slowly, deliberately he raised his arms to accept her gift, running his cold fingers gently over her burns. She flinched, but did not immediately pull away from his touch.

He had mentally practiced verbalizing an apology for the burns he had caused.  She may be his captor, but he was deeply regretful of his outburst. The last time he had lost control had been decades prior and had been another unfortunate consequence of blood deprivation.  The losses suffered by his last rampage were unspeakable, to say nothing of his own guilt.

"I mean for you to know that I am only so... Monstrous... When deprived of sustenance. My consciousness fades from me and all that moves in its place is a horrible instinct." He spoke softly, running his fingers over hers a final time before pulling away. She would not meet his gaze. Strange... She had only ever looked straight into his eyes since they met.

"...Is the cow's blood amenable to you?" She asked after a time, her hands tingling as she slipped them behind her back. 

"It tastes foul. But it is enough to sustain me and stay the madness.  An acceptable and necessary solution."

"You were not always this way, were you, Beastie?"

He let the nickname slide. "No, I was not."

"You once said you were centuries old.  When were you turned?  What was your life before some wretched beast made you part of its coven?  Can you even remember such things?" There was so little she understood of what he was that till now she had never even thought to ask.

"I suppose I'm in no position to bargain, but these are not easy answers you ask of me. Must you strain my heart as you strain my body?" His eyes fell on the syringes to mark his meaning.

"You admit to having a heart?"

"As much of one as a demon might have, I concede.  Perhaps less than a human yet more than God."

"I wonder if someday I may open you up to know for sure." She wondered absent-mindedly. "Though it is unquestionably foolish to confide in you, I am an honest woman.  And I confess I pity you more than I hate you. You are not one of the ones who murdered my father after all.  I believe in very little outside of the scientific realm, but _justice_ remains in my vernacular.  I've no wish to punish innocents for the crimes of their kin."

"Hanji." He met her eyes solemnly, folding his hands in his lap.  "If you are an honest woman, I am a truthful beast. I knew nothing of your father. If all this be from love of him, I understand your sorrow.  And if you can believe a beast such as this, I offer my services to you."

She studied him with brows furrowed, finding herself hating him less and less.  And when she could hold his gaze no longer, her eyes wandered to their surroundings, bare and miserable. 

"It's to be a contract with the devil then..."

"I've no power over souls if such things exist."

"I shall have Moblit bring down some furniture for you.  Along with regular dosages of animal blood to keep you sated and sane. Even prisoners are afforded some small amount of comfort.  I see now the merit of your words "

She turned to leave abruptly when he called out to her.

"What of your samples?"

"If you'd oblige extracting them yourself, I shall collect them later."

"Hanji—"

But she would not turn, and closed the door firmly behind her.  There was a moment of silence before he heard her steps run frantically away. And he was left once more alone.

She had left behind for him a collection of modern short fiction, the top pamphlet of the stack titled, _The String of Pearls: A Romance_. 

She was correct, such works could not win a contest of poetry against Shakespeare, but as he read through the first several short works he found himself smiling and muttered to himself,

"A pissing contest, perhaps."

\---

"Are you sure, milady?" Moblit asked nervously.  "Is he not our prisoner?"

"Is the manor not livable once again?  Must we still wear our coats and gloves indoors, crouching by burning fires when an autumn morning has yet to rise?  To provide him some small measure of comfort is to ease our lives as well."

The contents of the unoccupied guest bedroom of the main floor had been emptied into the parlor, with the Baroness setting aside pieces to go down into the basement and other pieces still for charitable giving.  Among the furniture were two plush armchairs, a four-poster bed, an armoire, two bedside tables, three bookshelves with all its bound volumes, an antique lamp, and several boxes containing some of her father's old possessions, including his clothes, his glasses, and canes. 

The regrettable truth was that she had rather kept the London manor in slight disarray. After her father's passing, she had spent little time organizing his assets and her inheritance before she dove into her... Unseemly projects.  It had pained her then to look upon her father's affects, but she was relieved to find her sorrow had much dulled as she took his spectacles from inside a box. 

"I shall take these to my office," she said softly, pocketing the dusty old glass. "The rest of it may go downstairs. Ah, with the exception of the medical texts. Send those out to our young mister Eren."

"What of your late father's clothes?"

She eyed them briefly before remarking,

"The rags our little Beastie wears are beginning to fall apart, I do think.  I'm sure he'd appreciate a change to his wardrobe."

"Milady!"

"It is not like you to question me so often.  What ails you?"

"To have him wear your father's old clothing... Does that not dishonor his memory?"

"My father is dead. I remember not his wardrobe from my childhood, the attire is long past season and style and better put to new use before it is discarded.  What would the alternative be?  Preserve them and have new clothes made for our prisoner?  Surely the extra expense would appall you all the more."

"I meant no disrespect..."

"Am I expected to follow the example of Her Majesty, and lay out my father's clothes every morning in his great memory?  To play the role of a pining daughter with gaze so fixated on what's past that I fail to seize the present or look to the future?  As if such futile gestures will bring him back to me."

Moblit hung his head, his hands clasped tightly together, his mouth pressed firmly into a line.

"To show him such charity is undeserved, surely that is what you think.  And yet to treat him with the cruelty we've exhibited thus far is to be worse than his kin.  And I know our souls suffer all the more for it.  I believe he had little and less to do with my father the more I question him."

At last she softened, placing a hand on his shoulder and urging him to meet her gaze.

"Ever we've proceeded in our own way, with little regard for consequences or decorum. If it is now kindness that makes you hesitate, the fault is mine for hardening your heart."

"No, milady." Moblit shuffled past her, seizing the box on the floor. "I shall do as you've requested. Everything shall be moved below by nightfall.  And I shall inform our guest of the magnanimous compassion you've chosen to bestow upon him."

"Well goodness, that makes it all sound rather grand!" She laughed.  "Oh and... I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you now just how much I do appreciate all of your services." She was fidgeting with her fingers, her eyes darting to the floor.

"It is my honorable duty. I do it all gladly." He was to go downstairs when he was all of a sudden reminded, "Oh, and... Lord Smith has sent a message.  He wished to meet with you this evening if at all possible."

"Oh... Yes, I suppose I'm due for a social encounter.  And the Marquess so hates to be ignored, does he not?"

"Courting gentlemen rarely do." 

"Courting? ...I fear you may be right." She sighed, her fingers wringing at her skirts.

"Would he be so bad to take for a husband, milady?  He was a decorated officer, and he is one who knows our secrets.  His rank and incomes are higher than your own, to say nothing of his handsome countenance."

"Oh Moblit, to hear you've found love at last.  I give the two of you my every blessing."  she laughed.

"Milady..." He sighed.

"Though the safe option is ever the most uninteresting..."

"Marriage has little to do with personal interest."

"Queen Elizabeth never married. I may prefer the life of a spinster queen after all."

"Meet with him, milady. Please.  Tonight is only dinner."

"Oh don't fuss, Moblit.  I shall attendto the Marquess, perform the social duties required of my station, and not disgrace my father's name by appearing a disagreeable hermit to the rest of the Royal Society."  she straightened her posture and pulled on her skirts, turning her nose high and turned swiftly on her heels, skipping away up the stairs. As ladies do.

And meet with him she did, however grudgingly, and however unexpected the invitation was to go out for dinner at some bourgeois restaurant.  She didn't quite have the proper dress for such an outing, but after Moblit quickly worked her messed hair into a bun and affixed her with the late Baroness's jewels, she was very nearly the picture of a high society lady.

"Forgive me, I've no talent for cosmetics..." Moblit had lamented.

"That may be your saving grace!" She had lauded, scratching at her tightly wound hair and pulling at the uncomfortable weight of pearls around her neck. She had absolutely refused rings of any sort, snatching up an old pair of lace gloves, never mind the small holes on the right hand. 

The Marquess sat across from her in his pristine breeches and she'd never guess his true occupation as an explorer.  She had a sudden thought of him being led through the jungles of Africa, guided by native locals, every one of whom would slowly be covered in the filth of the wilds while the Marquess walked on surrounded by an aura of immaculate cleanliness... The very ideals of the English gentleman must protect him, they'd wonder.   She was brought out of her musings when he began to speak.

"If you'll forgive the sudden invitation, Baroness--"

"Please, Lord Smith." She stopped him.  "I've been rather reticent of late.  Stepping out of my laboratory is a refreshing change of pace, I assure you."

His smile was a genuine one, and it made her stomach twist into uncomfortable knots.

"You seem more full of life than last we met.  Is your research yielding fruit?"

"Not in the ways I had originally hoped, perhaps, but there is some small amount of progress."

"That is wonderful to hear."

"I've enlisted Dr. Jaeger's assistance.  He and his son are proving invaluable to me."

"I believe I've heard that name, though the gentleman can rarely be seen fraternizing with other members of the Royal Society."

"In that we are more than alike.  Only the good doctor has the sick to call upon as an excuse.  I am merely a hermit, as my good manservant likes to say."

"Hardly! After all, I've persuaded you to step out for dinner.  Or perhaps that is a testament to their wine."

_Or to you... He wants me to say._

"I'm afraid I couldn't say. I've never been to this place." She refused his bait and gave her attention to her glass. "Though the wine is quite flavorful, I admit.  Will tonight be the night you regale me with your tales from abroad?"

At that moment their server came bearing the first course of their evening.  A creamy clam soup, full of potatoes and a sprinkling of herbs. The aroma was enticing to even Hanji, whose palette knew no difference between basil and parsley. In her day-to-day, she rarely ceased her work long enough to enjoy an uninterrupted meal.  But the first spoonful was enough to win her affections and until her bowl was entirely consumed, she spent the time attentively listening to the Marquess.

"There's a sort of fever that grips me when I travel.  I fear none of the danger, only the excitement and wonder of discovery--I truly rediscover my youth on my expeditions. And I think of how much of humanity lives all their life on one small area of land in all this vast, wide world and it saddens me, my lady.  Perhaps if we were born with wings, more of us would see more of this grand and beautiful world."

"You're quite the poet and idealist, Marquess! Surely the spirit of Alexander the Great is reborn in you," Hanji set down her glass gently.  "But not all humans are born to privilege and wealth and power that affords them the opportunity for such grand adventures. There is no shame in keeping close to home and hearth.  Even birds return home to a nest after soaring the skies." 

"It is the greatest shame for those who cannot, and I mean no offense to those who are never given opportunity.  I can only express my own joy at being able to indulge in such ventures for my own." 

She was not sure of the sincerity of those words.  But she gave no voice to her doubts as she watched him parch his throat with wine.

"What drives you, Baroness? Surely nothing so toxic as vengeance?"

"Truth." She answered after a time.

The second course came then; a roasted pheasant garnished with a crispy skin, polenta, and green beans. She could not decide if the second course seemed more appetizing than the first as she had been hungry at the time of the chowder, but even after such a delight, her mouth was watering.

Their server pulled out a carving knife and fork, and the Marquess stood to take them, silently insisting that he cut the meat for the table.

"Truth," he repeated as he carved out thin slices of meat and placed them gingerly on her plate. "Some would argue that there is no such thing as an absolute truth."

"For politics perhaps... Or matters of the heart. I confess there is likely no answer to the question of the human condition.  But there are scientific truths that are anything but arbitrary. Gravity holds us to this earth, ice melts above a given temperature, two plus two is four."

"And what truths have you so far discovered?" The Marquess took his seat, setting aside the carving utensils.

"The only thing with absolute certainty?" She took a bite of her pheasant and smiled at the taste. "Nothing is as it initially seems. And…all things may change."

"You're speaking of the creature, yes?"

"Did you know beings such as he could appreciate the writings of Shakespeare and Keats?"

"An overlooked fact among the annals of nosferatu lore, to be sure."

"You jest, but I confess to more than a little surprise.  Where I had previously thought them nothing more than depraved monsters without an inkling of redemption, I now wonder if I could be outmatched in knowledge of literature."

"I know of no one else, man or woman more well-read than yourself."

"Nor I, but I'll confess poetry is not my forte."

"Are you certain you are not being deceived?"

"...deceived?"

"It is a known tactic they use.  Seduction. Deceit.  Most especially on women--"

"Your meaning, my lord." She placed down her silverware immediately, the meal growing sour in her mouth.

"I mean only that you must be cautious in your interactions with it.  His poetry recitals may be no more than a ruse to bewitch your mind and—"

"Do you believe me to be under some spell?"

"I've no experience with those who are spellbound, I could not say with certainty—"

"Then I ask you to refrain from speaking of matters over which you have no knowledge."

"My lady, I—"

"More wine, my lord and lady?" Their server reappeared suddenly, cradling a second bottle in a towel between his hands.

"Uh—y-yes. Please." The Marquess shifted in his seat and looked pleasingly across the table in the interim whilst the man screwed the bottle open and poured fresh glasses for them both. 

"I am no delicate flower withering under the creature's influence, Lord Smith." She said curtly and promptly once the wine was poured and the man had taken his leave. "You must not underestimate me for the invented stereotypes of my sex, sir.  There is not a man alive who could withstand the pain of childbirth nor does there exist a woman who faints at the sight of blood."

"Lady Zoë, the words I speak are not out of malice, but out of concern.  I could not bear it if misfortune should befall you."

She found herself softening despite herself.  _If magic does exist in some form on this mortal plane, surely it is the Marquess who knows how to wield it_. But she held yet some power to resist him. 

"My apologies for being cross with you, my lord.  Ever I seem to be on the defensive in your presence."

"Do I put you so ill at ease?"

"Please don't misunderstand, I—"

"I tease."

She bit her tongue as they resumed their meal, more in silence than before.  But her appetite was gone and the flavor had fled from the dishes as birds from winter's chill.  It unnerved her to consider her actions, offensive to most, and yet she saw the man seated across from her and could not tell if he was the least bothered. He was a closed book.

The truth? The truth she felt with almost complete certainty in her heart of hearts?  The Marquess unnerved her far more than the Creature.

 

Upon returning home, though weary from the evening, she found herself wandering downstairs to where her Beastie must surely now be lounging on his new comforts. Moblit had insisted sleep, and in rebuttal, she allowed him to stand guard outside the door.

Inside it appeared as though she had simply moved the entire guest bedroom into the basement. Save for a few bloodstains and the cold concrete floor, one would never guess that the space had been a veritable dungeon the day before.  She found him upon one of the armchairs, reading by lamplight one of the _penny dreadfuls_ she had brought him, the faintest hint of a smile upon his lips.

"You've been out." He placed the pamphlet down in his lap and crossed his legs, the chain rattling about his ankle.  For all his new comforts, he was still chained as a prisoner.  Though the singular ankle was a marked improvement from both wrists.

"What gave me away?" She exhaled wearily as she sank into the armchair across from him. On the table beside her, he had laid out his self-collected samples, the crimson liquid shimmering where it caught the light.

"Your smell. You never wear perfume."

She smiled, a chuckle seizing her for an instant.  "I can't be bothered most days.  That and the smell is queer to me."

"And to me. The foul chemicals are completely unnatural."

"Polite society cannot abide me without it, but my Beastie cannot abide me with it! Perhaps I should cover myself with dung and turn up my nose to all of your bloody opinions." She laughed.

"You mean to say that wasn't your prior routine?" He snarked and she threw at him one of the pins she was pulling out of her hair.

"Though come to think of it..." She looked at him with a peculiar expression. "You don't smell at all terrible... Nothing at all like a corpse... But you haven't bathed in the time of your captivity."

"One of the benefits of my never aging body."

"I question what true benefit there is in the immortality you live... Dependent on the lifeblood of others to survive, unable to control your cravings and your thoughts when the hunger grips you... Though I suppose the superhuman abilities and eternal youth could be considered a boon." She wondered aloud as she swirled a vial of blood between her fingers.

"I've no need for pissing nor shit—"

"Truly?!" Her eyes lit up, glimmering in the lamplight.

"T-truly--" a jape to startle the woman had rather backfired onto his own self instead.

"Tis true you've never defecated in all this time, though I hadn't given it thought until now... But then what use are your digestive organs?  Do you yet have them?  You were human once, you must have them... No.  I don't fully know what physiology of yours might change... Certainly your teeth are not what they once were, but I find it incredulous to believe that entire organs may vanish... Perhaps they are repurposed in some way—"

"Hanji." He paused her with some difficulty.  "I do _not_ know."

"Ah." She folded her hands in her lap. "Pity.  Normally, I'd dissect you to know for sure."

"You must have been a nightmare of a child." He muttered with a slight grimace.

"Nine." She beamed.

"Nightmares?"

"Nine governesses before my father gave up and chose to educate me himself."

"Dante Alighieri wrote that there were nine circles of Hell." He remarked with an amused grin.

"Am I the Devil in the pit or the poet who braved the journey?" she laughed, the sound bubbling up from her insides and echoing in the chamber.

"Neither, I think." he mused, letting the echoes of her laughter ring in his ears and commit themselves to memory.  "You... Why, you're something else entirely."   

She pursed her lips and pulled at her hair—a nervous habit from her girlhood she had never rid herself of—twisting it between her fingers and feeling the frayed ends. 

"Says my little _Beastie_."

"That is not my name, Hanji."                  

"I know." she smiled, her eyes falling to her lap.  "But I think to name a thing is to give it life.  And I think... I'd be disappointed when I fail with you." 

Some time passed where they sat in silence. A silence they feared to disrupt for it gave them some comfort.  A momentary spell within which they hovered between the boundaries of captor and prisoner, late-night confidantes, human and monster, man and woman. Once the spell broke and the clock moved forward, they would emerge out of the oblivion as something tangible and delineated. 

"L," he spoke at last. "My name begins with an L. If you wish to know further--"

"Leonardo?" she flourished.

"...That is not—”

"I shall call you Leo, and perhaps I shall send down here some paint and a canvas and see what an artist the name makes of you."

"...You think myself an artist?" he raised an eyebrow slowly.

"I think... that you are more than just a beast." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's still reading and commenting! Your support goes a really long way in motivating me to continue writing this piece. A vague plot is forming in my head, and we'll see how far that takes us.


	5. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories fill our dreams and nightmares and haunt the minds of those who have walked too long on this earth. Levi thinks back to the life he once had, back when he was mortal, back when he had the smiles of others to protect.

Just off a small dirt road leading to a humble little village, behind the trees in a small clearing, three figures sat huddled around a small, low burning fire.  It was enough light to see, but barely enough warmth, so they sat close together, hunching their bodies over the flame.

Each was nursing a small loaf of stale bread, nibbling on the crusts like mice in an effort to make it last as many moments as possible.  The night air was cold but comfortable, one of a precious few nights amenable to those with no option but to sleep with no roof over their heads.

"Let's go to Paris!  I hear everything's better in Paris than in this rural dump."  One of the young men suggested. 

"Is the bread better in Paris?" The girl grumbled, flecking bits of mold off of the heel.

"Probably."

"Whether it's Paris or this dump, every city has slums.  We won't magically have money simply by going to Paris, Farlan." The third stated simply, flicking bits of his own mold into the weakly burning flames.

"Maybe not.  But I'm not growing old here.  If we're going to lie and steal to survive, we may as well do it on the road." The blond argued back, tossing the remainder of his loaf to the girl, who accepted it eagerly.  "Besides, we know there's no work for us in this small town and the villagers would be more than happy to be rid of us.  Maybe in Paris we could find work.  It doesn't have to be much, just enough to get by."

"Maybe I could be a waitress!  Then I'd get all the food I want, yeah?" The girl bounced in her seat, her red hair bouncing and reflecting the warm light from the flame.

"That's... Not exactly how serving works, Isabella." Farlan grimaced.

"And Levi, you could do anything you wanted!" She ignored Farlan, turning her bright eyes to their sullen-faced friend.

"Come on, Levi..." Farlan pleaded.  "Let's venture out and see this miserable world for what it's worth.  We only live once."

And then both eyes were on him, excited and hopeful, but unwilling to go without him.  Do or die trying, he supposed, and everyone had to die so they may as well take their chances.  It wasn't as if they had much to lose.

"All right.  We'll go.  To Paris." 

—-

In retrospect, he had had an uneasy feeling regarding the entire affair.  But hindsight always offered the complete picture void from the present a person experiences.  At the time, it was perfectly sound logic for Farlan to suggest leaving, and his own hesitation, based on nothing more than instinct, were merely the doubts of an overly cautious man. 

Levi looked into the sizable fire crackling down in his new dungeon home and reached out a hand to it.  But no matter the size of the fire of how close he inched his body toward it, it could not warm him; it never could.  What need had corpses for warmth?

—-

The countryside of France in those days was positively idyllic in every way... Except for the bugs.  The closer they got to Paris, the more numerous they became. 

"Tch... Damned things will probably eat me in my sleep." Levi grumbled, swatting another critter dead against his arm.  Only thousands left.

"Even the bugs want to go to Paris.  That's either because it's that awesome, or it's just a stinkhole." Isabella fanned herself—she had let her hair down to protect the back of her neck from the onslaught of sun and insect bites, but that did little to help with the heat. "I say we hitch a ride."

"With what money?" Farlan grumbled, feebly swiping at a cluster of gnats in his path.

 "No harm in asking, Farlan.  If they're going the same way, they might not care about fare."

 "Ever the optimist, aren't you, Isabella?"

"What can I say... We got out of the shithole we grew up in. I'm hopeful!" 

She skipped a few paces ahead of them, eager to spot anyone who might be driving by.  But the roads had been empty for some hours, since most commuters, even those with horses and wheels didn't want to be on the road in midday.  Isabella had almost given up, after a fruitless hour of listening, resigned to another night sleeping on the side of the road and another day of walking when they all heard the sound of an approaching cart.  Once it was visible over the hill, she threw up her arms and waved them about, jumping up and down for good measure.

"You're wasting your energy." Farlan grumbled.  They were going to be asked for fare.

But to the surprise of all three and to her delight, the cart slowed to a stop beside them and in the back they could see, hear, and _smell_ a pen of chickens clucking about. 

"You folks headed to Paris?"  the old man called to them.

"Yes sir!  We'd sure appreciate a ride if you've got room."

Levi eyed the chickens with disdain, but held his tongue and let Isabella do the talking.

"Hard to say no to a face like that, but only room I've got's in the back with the girls." He pointed to the gaggling flock with his thumb.

"We'll take it!" She piped.

"Now hold on..." Farlan grabbed her arm before she leapt into the train of the cart.  "Begging your pardon, uh... Sir... But we don't have any coin to pay you for your trouble."

"Well... it's only half a day's ride from here.  Might do with some company.  Up you get now.  Don't worry none."

"Guess I'll take the front then!" Isabella hopped into the passenger's seat beside the old man, and Farlan and Levi sat off the edge in the back, opting not to get as close and comfortable to the _girls_ as Isabella had gotten with the old man. They dangled their feet down from the cart.

"Turns out optimism pays off sometimes," Farlan smirked. "Let's hope it holds once we've reached Paris too."

—

They might not have thought so at the time, but their smooth entry into Paris and their first week of looking for work were the fates being kind. As kind as they could care to be for a group of street rats, who were just three more in the mediocre multitudes of humanity—not destined for anything great or memorable—but still that first week had had hope.

But then...

Thinking back, Levi would never be able to forget the day he made Kenny's acquaintance.

—

With the generous help of the old chicken farmer, the three had ended up with two rooms for boarding in an older parish, one which appreciated having extra hands around for cleaning and maintaining the place.  Really, they would have never thought to approach any religious sanctuaries—the priest in their hometown had been a hateful man, and they were not accustomed to thinking of churches or convents as safe places.  It was small, and a little cramped, but clean and homey enough.  But the sisters had no need for three extra sets of hands, so Levi and Farlan set out to find work for themselves outside. 

After a week of fruitless searching, Levi was kicking a pebble along with his stride when he heard a man call out,

"Thief!  Stop him!" 

The young boy knocked into him in his frantic rush and Levi grabbed him by the scruff of his neck immediately, more out of instinct than any sense of heroism, giving the robbed man time to catch up. 

"I didn't steal nothin'!" The boy squirmed relentlessly, pulling at the firm grip on his collar.

"So this is yours then?" Levi held up a small coin purse, and the boy ceased his struggling instantly.

"How'd you get that?  You thief!"

"Kettle.  Pot."

"Thank you, my good man!" The older man panted.

"Ok fine, you got your stinking money back, now lemme go already!"

"Sure thing." 

As the boy scrambled off, Levi caught the man staring at him, a queer look in his eye.  It made him more than a little uncomfortable.  Giving a curt nod of his head, he started to walk but the old man demanded more of his attention.

 _I should've let the boy go.  I should've kept walking and minded my own business_.

"Wait, stranger.  You have a look about you... You're a man with no small amount of strength I think, despite your stature.  How would you like to work for me?"

"What makes you think I'm looking for work?"

"Out and about during this time of day?  You're not in a hurry to get anywhere, and those clothes on your back are worn to rags."

"What kind of work?"

"Work for a man of your means."

"If that's all the detail you can give me, I'm not interested." He had been on the receiving end of enough illicit offers to know when something was... Less than legitimate in the eyes of the law.  Paris was meant to be a fresh start.  No more petty theft.  No more—

The man placed the retrieved bag of coins in his hand and the weight of it paused him more than he cared to admit.

"I can pay.  And well."

Levi contemplated handing the purse right back, but as if reading his mind the strange man said,

"Consider this payment for catching that boy.  If you want more of where this came from, meet me tonight at the edge of the city.  Follow the road East out of Paris, you'll come to an old manor.  You'll know it's ours."

Levi had told himself it was mere curiosity.  Going that one night was only to gain more information.  It wasn't a commitment by any stretch of the imagination.  That was all. 

What he found at the address given was an old manor, large and spacious but run-down.  Two men were pacing silently outside, and when they saw Levi approaching, they merely pointed for him to go inside, saying not so much as a single word.  But their eyes never left him, and they were wide and eery in the moonlight. Once inside, he found much of the interior decor was missing or covered up with sheets as if in preparation for an estate auction.  A simple meeting spot, he decided.  There was little possibility anyone lived here. 

Eventually he found his way upstairs to the master bedroom where the old man was seated surrounded by a circle of people, both male and female, but all relatively young. 

"Ah, the man of the hour.  I knew you'd come."

Levi half expected a chorus of commentary from the gathered crowd, but they instead let him pass through in silence, simply eyeing him warily, much like the guardsmen at the door.

_I'm outnumbered.  I couldn't pull any tricks even if I wanted to.  Smart of him._

"So I'm here.  What's the work you've got for me?"

"Are you agreeing to be under my employ?"

"That depends. You haven't told me anything yet.  Not even your name."

He let out a chuckle then, slapping a hand on his knee. 

"You're a cautious man.  But I can appreciate that.  In fact, I prefer it.  All right.  We'll say your employment is tenuous based on your performance tonight.  I need you to retrieve something for me."

"A glorified delivery boy.  If that's what you wanted, any in this bunch could do it."

"You didn't let me finish.  Annie."

A blond girl stepped forward from the crowd obediently, wordlessly holding out to Levi a small pistol and a sheathed dagger. 

"For your protection." Kenny smiled and the leer in his eyes froze the air in that room, chilling him to the bone.  "The name is Kenny.  Kenny Ackerman."

"You're giving me weapons." Levi stated simply.

"Oh I'm unconcerned.  Annie is rather skilled herself.  I don't think you could do us any harm.  And like I said, you might need them.  But not against us."

"So what am I supposed to get then?" Levi was growing tired of the games.  He pocketed the pistol and placed the dagger in his boot.  If they were going to arm him, so be it.  As little as he knew about them, they knew even less about him.  He still had the upper hand.

"It's on the other side of town, by the docks.  Annie will accompany you." 

Before he could ask anything further, the girl walked quickly out of the room and the had no choice but to follow or be swiftly left behind. 

Levi had lived his whole life being told that he was terse, cold, rough around the edges... But he fancied himself quite the teddy bear compared to the girl named Annie who led him on their delivery run.  For well over an hour she led him like a phantom through the streets of Paris, never saying a word and moving deftly between hidden alleys and long-abandoned passages. 

"So what is it we're supposed to be getting for the geezer?" 

She gave no reply.

"All of this just screams contraband."

Still his only reply was silence.

"Can you even talk?"

She sighed in exasperation, tucking her fringe behind her ears.  It was the most reaction he had been able to get out of the girl.  At least he knew she wasn't deaf.

"Quiet.  We're here."

He smelled the docks before he saw them.  And down by the waterfront was a man lingering about the prostitutes, flirting and looking about but not partaking.  Either a poor man without coin or...

"Is that our man?" Levi pointed.

"I do all the talking, got it?"

"Hmph." Levi agreed, unable to imagine that she could talk very much at all.

But Levi wouldn't have had much time for chit chat between crooks in any case as the transaction went fairly quickly.  A small pouch was exchanged—if it was contraband, it was quite little—for a handful of coin with which the man might buy a night's warm embrace. 

As they swiftly moved away from the man to return to the abandoned manor, Levi allowed himself to relax a little.

"A small transaction with a single, homely little man.  I see less and less reason for my presence."

"Then pay more attention, little one.  We're being followed."

"..."

"..."

Taking care not to turn his head, he turned his gaze side to side and listened in the darkness for the sounds behind his own footsteps.  But he could detect nothing.

"Are you certain?"

"I'm changing paths.  Somewhere less open.  I do better in close quarter combat, hope you can keep up." 

And without any further warning, she took off running and Levi had less than seconds to pick up his own pace and follow.  As soon as they began to run, their pursuers emerged from the shadows, quick on their heels.  They wore hoods in the dark like some cliché storybook villains.  A rival gang?  Assassins?  How had she known they were there? 

Annie darted to the left into an alleyway and as soon as they were cornered, Levi reached into his boot for his dagger, pulling it as the two men rounded the corner. 

Levi half expected some quip about how it was all over, how they had nowhere else to run.  But the men merely lunged at them silently, their movements quick, quicker in the dark.  The man who dove at Levi was the taller one, broad shouldered and built like a house—punching him felt like pummeling a brick wall.  But he was slow for all his strength and size, and a slide between his wide set legs for a stab in the back of his knee brought him down to his level with a strangled scream.

When Levi whirled around, Annie had flipped her assailant onto his back where he lay bruised and angry.  As far as he could tell, she had no need for his assistance.  Behind him, his attacker was determinedly pulling the dagger out of his knee—quite the tolerance for pain, though he was making an awful ruckus—and throwing it back at Levi, who dodged it nimbly and wondered about pulling out his firearm. 

With the noise they'd already caused, a gunshot may not add very much fuss... But it could be the straw that sent nightly patrols their way.  Could Annie convincingly play the role of damsel in distress so they appeared the victims?

But the large man grabbed ahold of his arm with brutish strength, and with no time to with his options, Levi drew his gun without hesitation, aiming it squarely between the man's eyes.

"You ever killed a man before?" The ugly man growled with an ugly voice.

"You don't know what I've done."

He sneered and bared an unnerving set of pearly white teeth.

"Do it then."

"Let go."

"Can't do it, can you?"

There was an instant in which Levi thought he had pulled the trigger.  He heard the shot and the grip around his arm loosened. He wondered if his fingers had slipped.  But the man toppled down silently and the shooter stood behind him, cold and still.

"Come on.  We need to get out of here," Annie stored her pistol quickly before grabbing Levi's arm and pulling at him to move.  "Now!"

They were running when Levi's daze had passed.

"Is this what you do at night for fun?" Humor.  Humor would mask his nerve.

"I do what I have to."

"Right." It came out as skepticism, but truthfully, it was the most sympathetic thing she had said all night.

—

When they returned to the manor, they rushed back upstairs, taking them two at a time though the danger had long passed.  Most of the earlier crowd had dispersed and now a bed in the far back of the room could be seen, an old, much older man lying recumbent upon it.  Levi had failed to notice him before, and it was little wonder given how still and quiet he lay. 

Annie gave to Kenny the small pouch and he opened it to reveal a small glass bottle filled with white pills. 

"Here old man."

Levi thought Kenny sounded almost... Gentle.  There was a story here—a long story—he would never know completely.  A begrudging son who never saw eye to eye with his father perhaps... The dying man could be an uncle, a patron, a father of sorts to all the people that called this rickety house home.

With some struggle and half a glass of water, the man in bed swallowed the pills that were offered him before returning to sleep, a few less wrinkles marring his brow.  His breathing eased and his chest began to rise and fall in slow, even beats.  When Kenny finally pried his eyes away from the convalescent man in bed and saw Levi and Annie standing silently, waiting, he spoke softly.

"Medicine.  Not anything remarkable; you can't cure the dying.  But it eases his pain." Kenny gestured to a dresser upon which Levi found his night's payment in a pouch.  "For your work tonight.  I can see it was not an entirely eventless evening." His eyes remarked upon the bruised wrist and the roughened clothes.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Levi mumbled, pulling at his sleeve to cover the bruise.  He couldn't let Farlan or Isabella see.

"He's rough around the edges... But not completely without skill." Annie remarked lazily, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Good.  That's good to hear."

"I didn't—"

"So will we be seeing more of you then, stranger?"

"Levi." Reluctantly, he gave his name.  He wasn't even sure what had prompted him to do so.  He shouldn't have.

"Well you know where we are.  When you're up for a bit of midnight company... Otherwise, I'll have an errand for you same time next week... Levi."

—

He returned to the parish near dawn just as the sisters were rising for morning prayer.  Every day they invited him to bend the knee to their wooden cross but Levi had no stomach for religion or delusions.  Happy though he was to help clean and cook, he would never join them to pray.

"Where were you?" Farlan was awake bright and early for someone who didn't have anywhere he needed to be until afternoon.

"Out."

"All night?"

"Evidently."

"Levi—"

"I found night work.  Construction."

He tossed the purse of coins at Farlan and plopped down into his own bed with a deep sigh. 

"It's just for now.  So that we can save up and be out of the sisters' caps."

"Construction pays really well..."

"It does."

"What if I—"

"Farlan.  I need to sleep."

"Oh.  Yeah ok."

And so it went.  Levi would leave as dusk settled on the streets of Paris and return well after the break of dawn.  Even if Kenny had naught for him to do in an evening, he had to keep up the pretense of steady employment for the others.  After about a week, he had become accustomed to a nocturnal schedule.  It was only temporary, he reminded himself.  Only until they saved up enough to procure their own living space.  He had no wish to be a hired thug for the rest of his days.  Even if he was good at it.

The night that changed everything came on a quiet evening when the autumn winds came blowing into Paris.  The trees were beginning to change their colors, some shedding their leaves early and leaving the skyline bare but for their swaying branches.  Levi found his way to the abandoned manor to find several things changed from the usual.

Firstly, the sickly old man had finally kicked it.  He knew before he even entered the house—it was hard to ignore the body hanging from the rafters, the white muslin flapping about in the slight breeze.  _So not a beloved father._   If Kenny was head of the organization only demonstrably, he held it now in practice and name.  Second, the entire household was in a state of celebration at his passing.  The old walls, normally so silent and ghastly were brimming with noise, howling laughter, and ululation.  Nobody paid him any mind as he strolled in amidst their jubilee and headed upstairs to where Kenny lay on the floor in ecstasy, blood trailing down from his lips and pouring out of the corpse that lay beside him.  Nor did anybody pay him any mind when he moments later ran out of the manor in a panic, shoving past the revelry.

He retched as soon as the air hit him outside.

It was always temporary, he reminded himself.  Now was a good a time as any to walk away and never look back.  So he did.

But they would not so easily let him leave.

—

The flames flickered and dimmed in the lamps (the fire had long since died) and Levi knew that dawn would soon be upon him.  Somewhere above, outside, the streets of London would begin to wake, the quiet shuffling before the midday din.  The hours that spoke the rise of those above signaled his sleep. 

And here he had spent his lonely waking hours recalling unpleasant thoughts of a distant past. 

But it was good to remember lest he forget their faces.

—

Perhaps he wasn't looking hard enough, or perhaps Farlan had been overly optimistic about his employment capabilities but good, honest work by daylight was frustratingly difficult to find.  As the sun began to disappear behind the buildings, Levi began his trek back to the parish, another failed job hunt. 

But by now he had learned well the winding streets of Paris and felt himself a local in his familiarity of them.  Not only that, but he knew them by day and by night. Down the streams westward toward the ringing bells of the something chapel, which lay a stone's skip and a turn away from—

His blood ran cold.

In front of the gates of the abbey, Isabella was sweeping the entranceway idly, her attention much drawn to an older gentleman who stood by her, chuckling low and making pleasant conversation. 

 _Kenny_.

Kenny turned to him and when their eyes met, it seemed to Levi for a moment that his eyes flashed a horrifying shade of red.

"Levi!" He greeted, tipping his hat.

"Oh, Levi!  Welcome back!" Isabella chimed in, blissfully unaware of the danger she stood beside.  "Why didn't you ever tell us that your boss was such a funny guy?"

 _Get away from him_ , his mind screamed.

"Levi does seem the type to never mix work with pleasantries." Kenny's eyes never left him.  "Would you mind, _Isabella_ —"

It was unnerving how he said her name.

"—giving us a moment?"

"Oh!  Yeah, sure!  Oh, and... You're welcome to come inside later if you want!" giving Levi a wink, she stepped back inside, leaving the two alone on the street.

"What a sweet _invitation_ that was... Take a walk with me, Levi."

"I'd rather stay put."

"Ever the cautious man..." Kenny laughed.  "Do you find such comfort in standing beside a house of God?"

"What do you want?"

"Well we haven't seen you in so long. You left without saying goodbye.  Old men like me don't take such partings well."

"And how old are you really?"

Kenny smiled a wide smile, his canines glittering.

"Well you'd find out eventually.  It's rather exhausting trying to hide it from you to be frank.  Bernard was rather sick of having to hide out of sight everytime you come around."

"Bernard?"

"The man you 'killed' on the first assignment I sent you.  Well, I say 'man' but..."

"You still haven't answered my question. What do you want with me?"

"That girl, Isabella.  Sweet, young thing... She seems quite fond of you though I can't quite pin down why.  I find myself quite drawn to her myself."

"Leave her out of our dealings."

Levi wondered how Kenny had come to find him.  Most likely Annie had followed him one night while he was none the wiser.  He felt his nails digging into the skin of his palms.  He had been too careless!

"You want your freedom?"

"I have my freedom.  I'm not some slave you bought and paid for."

"Technicalities.  But regardless, you want me to leave you alone, that much is clear, so bring Isabella to me, you know where.  This time tomorrow night."

"I won't."

"Then I'll just step inside and kill them all right now.  I'll save her for last and make sure you watch.  I assure you, she will die screaming."

Levi had never respected God, never feared him, never loved him, but it frightened him to know how useless he truly was.  Kenny had said it plain as day that all the trinkets and baubles, the crosses and prayers meant nothing to him; they couldn't harm him.  They weren't safe here, and they'd never be safe anywhere.

"Why do you want her?"

"That's no concern of yours.  Tell her you're taking her for a walk.  I'd tell you there's no point in trying to escape and leave town, but I'm sure you're already aware of the eyes watching this place."

Levi found himself gripped by a horrible fear.  A dozen hopeless situations raced through his mind in a blur as he stood frozen on that pavement.  In one scenario he even found himself a kneeling supplicant before the wooden cross inside, begging God for salvation and praying he would send one of his mighty angels to strike down the demon before him.  But it would come to naught.  Nothing would help.  He could not think of a way out.  A cold sweat ran down his brow and he wiped it away with bloodstained fingertips, his open palm throbbing with a dull pain from where his nails had dug in too deep.

"Mull it over, my boy."

—-

Levi heard the sounds of footsteps upstairs and he knew Moblit was awake at the very least.  The man's morning routine always began in the kitchen, in the south wing of the townhouse, lighting the stove and preparing breakfast and morning tea for his mistress.  He'd take a short trip to the front door to retrieve the morning paper, his steps usually slower on the way back to the kitchen... Probably because he was reading the headlines.  Levi couldn't distinguish the steps nearly so well once Moblit ascended to the upper floors, but he felt that if they ever took him upstairs and out of the dungeon, he would quite confidently know the layout of at least the ground floor of the house.

Lately, he had grown accustomed to waiting.  Waiting to see if the Baroness would pay him a morning visit before going about her day.  Some days she did.  He felt it was worth it to see if she would, even if the daylight outside made him want to sleep like the _dead_. His eyes would droop but still he'd wait.  At least an hour, sometimes more. 

Today wasn't one of those days.  He let his eyes close and surrendered himself to rest. 

At dusk he awoke to the sound of knocking, and groggily he pulled himself out of his chair to stretch his stiff limbs, rattling the chain on his ankle to indicate they could enter.  He turned on the lamps one by one, for her benefit not his.

She entered alone, bringing a tray that held upon it a teapot, one teacup, and three bowls, each swirling with a dark red liquid.

"Good mor—evening, Beastie." She smiled, setting the tray down gingerly on the fireside tray tables, looking carefully at his now-dilated pupils, the way his lips hung open slightly, his fangs slowly extending.  But his eyes still beheld reason.  He was not mere monster now.

"Hanji." He acknowledged curtly.  He waited until she stepped away from the tray and out of the radius of his chain—a necessary precaution for feeding they had discovered—and then he took the first bowl into his hands and gulped it down.  The taste was meager, but undeniably nourishing.  It revived him greatly. 

"I've brought different kinds of animal blood for you.  I wonder if you think they taste different at all." She called from across the room, pacing the perimeter of the chain. 

"What was the first?"

"The usual.  Cow."

"It's mediocre." He grabbed the second bowl, chugging it down with slightly less relish than the first.  "This one is worse.  What is it?"

"Cat."

"For pity's sake—"

"Not a feral one with rabies.  The smallest from a litter of kittens." She said in her defense.

"I remain unconvinced that you are _not_ the monster between us."

"Does my Beastie have a soft spot for kittens?" She teased.  "Or perhaps the taste is worse because the sample was too young.  Age probably has some effect, undoubtedly.  Like trying to eat an unripe fruit, I suppose."

"If you listen closely to yourself, you'll find you've just compared the blood of a newborn kitten to an unripe apple."

"I think the example is pertinent, but if young age adversely affects the taste, you may not favor the last one."

He swallowed it down, expecting the same bitterness as the second but instead tasted a light sweetness on his tongue... Not nearly as appetizing as human blood to be sure, but the best of the three.

"What is it?"

"You didn't make a face.  You must like it.  How interesting... It's not just age..."

"Hanji, what did I just drink?"

"Blood of the lamb," she flourished.

"..."

The silence hung in the air a few moments before laughter took her and she filled the dungeon with her raucous hoots.  Levi couldn't even be sure what face he was wearing given the situation.

"Oh... Oh my.  Ahem... Not _the_ Lamb of course, wouldn't that be something?  If I had gotten a hold of the actual blood of our Lord, assuming such a figure exists... No, it's just plain, ordinary lamb, I'm afraid.  Though clearly you enjoyed it more than the others, unendorsed by the Holy Ghost as it is." She moved closer to him as the giggling receded, gesturing to the teapot.

"I can't drink—"

"No Beastie, the tea is for me."

Slowly, he backed away and lowered himself into one of the reclining chairs, watching her as she noisily poured the tea for herself, splashing hot water everywhere, a small drip pouring down the underside of the spout and wrong the tray.  The ceramic clanged and clattered when she set it down (not at all gently).  He winced but was relieved the teaware did not break.

"Who is Isabella?" She asked, settling into her seat.

Levi said nothing but looked at her with suspicious eyes, his shoulders tense. 

"I came to see you late this morning but you were sound asleep," she explained.  "You mumbled that name as you dreamt."

"Tch."

Levi turned his head away.  He tried to convince himself it was out of shame at having been caught so vulnerable. 

Several minutes of silence passed between them to his surprise.  He had expected her to press and pry, as was so often her way.  But she sat patiently waiting, blowing and sipping at her tea. 

"She was... My first victim." He murmured quietly. 

"After you were—"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  "She must have been important to you."

He didn't question how she knew such things. 

"She was family.  The only thing the three of us ever had in all the world was each other, and I failed to protect them.  Farlan was killed before my eyes, and Isabella died at my hands."

"Do you remember killing her?"

"What?"

"Do you remember?  Vividly, in your mind?  Can you recall with exact clarity the moment you tore into her flesh with your claws and bit down into her neck—"

He was on her in a moment, his icy cold hands on her mouth and throat to stay her words.

"Don't!" He spat, his fangs inched from her face.  "How dare you ask me—"

She pushed at his hands with all her strength, struggling to breathe but still she choked out,

"Do... You... Remember?!??"

"Why does that matter?!?!!"

"Answer me!!"

"NO!  I DON'T!!" He roared. 

Moblit was on him before either had realized he had come in the room, and he pressed a polished silver knife to the demon's throat.  Levi hissed and flailed under the burning touch of that metal on his skin and he clawed at the knife while Moblit pulled him off and away from his mistress, crying out when the cold nails pierced into his skin but keeping his grip firm.

"Don't!" Hanji cried out to them, darting forward to try and wrench their hands off each other.  "Stop this instant!"

Her pull on Moblit's arm caused him to drop the smaller man, who immediately darted to the opposing corner of the room, crouching low and clutching his chain.  Before Hanji could approach him, Moblit grabbed her firmly around her waist and carried her toward the door, despite her protestations.

"Don't—what are you doing?!  Put me down this instant, Moblit!  Put me down!"

But he would indulge her no longer, and walked steadily forward, even as she began to struggle to free herself from his grasp.

"You don't remember!!!" She cried, calling out to the huddled creature.  "If you don't remember, you may have had nothing to do with her death!"

Levi's head shot up and he whirled around frantically to meet her eyes. 

"Wh—" he had barely formed the word in his mouth when Moblit slammed the door behind him, and Levi could hear him fumbling with the locks and bolts even as Hanji struggled to get back inside.  He could hear how she eventually gave up on the locks as they were clicked shut and she began pounding on the door instead. 

"Think hard!  Let me go, Moblit—he never meant to harm me!"

"Zoë!!!" Moblit's voice rang out, echoing off the brick walls and stilling all life in the manor.  "Enough is enough!  That thing is dangerous and untrustworthy—look at your neck!" 

"If you would just let me explain—"

"Hanji!!" Levi called out to them from his side of the doors.  "Do as Moblit says."

She would have protested.  She would have broken down the doors with an axe if she needed to—she answered to neither man nor beast—if she had not heard the faint whisper in her head, her Beastie coaxing words into her mind as if he stood right beside her.

_Thank you, Baroness.  But oblige your manservant and let us both retreat tonight.  I have much I myself must consider.  But I leave you with a name: Kenny Ackerman.  I think perhaps that my vengeance and yours may be one and the same._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even want to think about the last time I updated this thing, and I have pretty much no excuse for the delay since I had the first 80% of this done for well over half a year. At least I increased the total wordcount of this fic by a grand 50% with this chapter? Thank you so much to those still reading, I'm sorry I'm horrible about updating.


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